


Sorry?

by Reading_with_Winchesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cute, Fluff, Funny, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, I hope, Langst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Police, Violence, but still, lol, maybe a little crack, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:05:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reading_with_Winchesters/pseuds/Reading_with_Winchesters
Summary: You mean you’re the fucker that threw a goddamn knife at me for no reason. I was just trying to listen to Shakira, did that offend you in some way? Are you that racist that you can’t even appreciate Shakira?”





	Sorry?

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't how hospitals or police work, but please just indulge me

Okay, listen, this was not Keith’s fault. Yes, he had been walking home in the bad part of town. Yes, he was carrying his knife, and, yes, he had thrown it and hit something. But did the police really need to chase him down for this?

He had been walking this way because he was late - Shiro would kill him if he was late - and this was a short cut. He was carrying his knife because he always carried his knife, fuck you. He had thrown said knife out of fear at a noise, and it wasn’t his fault his aim was spot on. It was also definitely not his fault that there happened to be a cop car around the corner that heard his yell and someone else’s ‘oof.’ Keith would have even stopped and helped if the police weren’t chasing him, so really, this was all their fault.

Sirens blared behind him as he took a sharp turn into an alley on his left, ran through it, and turned right on the other side. 

Well, almost turned right. Just as Keith started to pivot someone ran into him, causing a full body collision and knocking both parties down to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going!” Keith yelled, struggling to get up with the dead weight of an entire human being on top of him. Now was not the time for this.

“Watch where you’re going!” Came the person’s reply, muffled by a mouthful of Keith’s jacket.

“Could you at least get up? I have somewhere to be!” Keith was very annoyed at this stage.

“Sorry, it’s a little hard with the knife wound in my thigh!” Yelled the mystery person - a man Keith now realized - lifting his face to glare at Keith, whose heart may or may not have skipped a few beats. Fuck. This dude’s immobility was actually his fault.

“Did it hit an artery?” asked Keith. If he had hurt this dude, the least he could do was try his best to help him. Fuck the police.

Of course, the man just scoffed at him, “Do I look like a doctor to you?” came the snarky reply. It was at this moment -- with the guy’s face directed at him, eyes glinting and mouth almost pouting (was now really a time for pouting?) -- that Keith realized the man splayed over his legs was very, very attractive. Fuck. Why was his luck like this? The first hot guy he sees in months and it happens to be the same guy he accidentally hit with a knife. There went every single one of his already low chances. Honestly, just kill him now.

The police chose then to turn the corner onto the street Keith and mystery baby-blue eyes were lying on. Panicking just a little, he wrapped his arms under the man’s armpits -- holy shit, were those abs? -- and used all his strength to get up and drag the both of them into the alley he had run through minutes before, ignoring the indignant squawks and growing smell of trash.

Once the pair were safely tucked away Keith spoke, cutting of a rant about common decency and risks of infections with, “Let me see the wound. I’m not a doctor, but I know what a bad cut looks like. Also, give me back my knife.” His words hung heavily in the air.

Keith had fucked up.

“Your knife? You mean you’re the fucker that threw a goddamn knife at me for no reason. I was just trying to listen to Shakira, did that offend you in some way? Are you that racist that you can’t even appreciate Shakira?” His voice rose to a pitch that Keith had never heard from anything other than the screech owl he had seen on a trip to the zoo like four years ago.

“What? No? Listen, I don’t even know your name! It was an acc-”

“Lance.”

“What?”

“The name’s, Lance.”

“Right, Lance. It was an accident!”

“How do you accidentally throw a knife into someone’s thigh?”

“Your music scared me!” Keith was aghast, “Not because it was Shakira, it just did! Listen, I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have thrown my knife! What else do you want from me?”

Gears turned quickly in Lance’s head as he replied, “I’ll forgive you,” Keith was relieved, “Under one condition.” Keith was no longer relieved.

“What condition?” He sighed, hoping it was quick. Maybe he would just have to listen to a Shakira song, or get the dude to a hospital. Maybe just help him walk? If it was give himself up to the police, fuck it; Keith would rather be free than forgiven by a stranger. Yes, no matter how hot that stranger was.

Lance grinned cheekily, “Give me your number.” He said, accompanying his words with what he hoped to be a flirtatious wink.

“What the fuck?”

“Listen, I know Cupid is supposed to shoot you in the heart, but a knife in the thigh works too.”

“Are, are you kidding me?” Keith was spluttering at this point. Whether that was from the oddness of the request or the fact that Lance was undeniably pretty was questionable, but Keith did not have the time to confront that, “ I just stabbed you in the thigh!”

“Hey, you’re really hot and you haven’t run away yet!”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

This guy was nuts. That, Keith was sure of. Who on Earth would flirt -- badly, at that -- with someone who almost killed you? Not Keith, that was for sure. But, hey, to each their own, he guessed, and if this was what it took to get forgiveness and avoid a possible lawsuit, then okay. It wasn’t like Keith was going to suffer from this. Oh no, he gets a date. He held his hand out for Lance’s phone and typed in his number and address -- because why the hell not -- before giving it back.

“Are we good.” Keith asked.

“Great!” Lance replied happily, hopping to his feet.

Actually it was more of an attempt to hop. He got halfway up before his leg buckled and he fell over again, Keith’s knife tumbling from his pocket. Right. His knife. Keith had forgotten about that.

“Alright,” Lance amended, surprisingly calm for the situation, “maybe ‘great’ is not the right word. I can’t use one of my legs. Also, I’m bleeding a lot.” Indeed, Lance’s jeans were covered in blood along with his hands and various spots around where he was sitting.

Keith smirked -- he had earned that right when the maniac started flirting -- before bending down to pick up his knife. Lance, of course, squawked indignantly at Keith’s choice of priorities, but Keith was quick to pocket the knife and grab Lance’s hand to help him to his feet, slinging one of the man’s arms over his shoulder to better support him.

Together they walked out of the alley like some strange, gory three-legged race team. Their contentment with each other came to an end almost immediately when they were met by a team of three cops pointing guns at them and yelling at Keith to “let him go!”

It took quite a while, but Lance and his damnable (kissable) smooth talking mouth convinced the police that everything had been an accident and he was fine? See? His buddy Keith was taking him to the emergency room right now. Ten warnings and three pat downs -- and one failed confiscation of his beloved knife -- later, Keith was allowed to go and Lance was giving Keith the keys to his car, a beat up convertible Volkswagon that he had lovingly nicknamed Blue.

Keith tried protesting but Lance shoved him into the driver’s seat, citing his leg as the reason he could not drive, and warning Keith that if Blue got scraped or if either of them died then he would kill Keith himself. Keith failed to see the logic, but shut up and turned the car on anyway.

Ten minutes and several heart attack inducing moments later, Keith pulled into the emergency room parking lot. Lance was rather green, but did not comment on Keith’s driving. Perhaps the time crunch got to him, or perhaps he was just too busy fearing for his life. Whatever it was, Keith would take it; he had gotten the Safe Driving lecture from Shiro countless times before.

Keith scooped Lance up bridal style before he could make a comment, and Lance smirked up at him, “Wow, Keith. You’ve really swept me off my feet.”

Keith debated dropping him on the ground then and there and letting a doctor come find him here, but settled for a, “Fuck off” instead because holy shit this guy was a fucking idiot, but holy shit this guy was fucking adorable. Why was he so adorable? Keith certainly didn’t know.

They walked up to the front desk -- well, Keith walked while Lance giggled into his hand continuously -- where a man sat reading a newspaper, completely oblivious. Clearing his throat, Keith caught the guy’s attention and told him, “My friend got stabbed and I think he needs stitches. Can we go in?”

Wait. Had he just called Lance his friend? Was it too early for that? Had he fucked up? Keith hadn’t had many -- read, any -- friends in his life, and he really wasn’t sure what to do now that a friendship seemed imminent. Was he supposed to wait for Lance to say something? Wait until they left the hospital? This confusion was the reason Keith had chosen to be a loner for so long.

His inner monologue was cut off by the sound of retching; the guy at the desk had turned white as a sheet and was currently bent over the trash can under his desk. Lance’s injury wasn’t even that bad, Keith thought bemusedly. He would have thought that emergency room volunteers would have strong stomachs, but it seemed he had been very wrong.

A nurse came running into the lobby at the pathetic gasps of the man, took one look at Lance, and ran back into her room. She reemerged a minute later from the large doors leading into the actual emergency rooms, pushing a gurney in front of her.

“Put him here.” She ordered Keith, her tone leaving no room for argument. “He’s going to need stitches at the very least and maybe a small blood transfusion. Are you a relative?” Her words were coming too fast and too sharp and Keith’s brain was not working at its full capacity -- Lance’s body was so so warm and cozy -- and he barely stuttered out a no before the nurse pulled Lance onto the gurney, turned away and wheeled Lance back through the large doors, leaving Keith behind.

It was only after the doors shut with a definitive click sound that Keith snapped out of his daze enough to exclaim, “Hey, wait! That’s my friend!”

“Sorry, sir.” The desk volunteer said feebly, still a little too pale to be considered normal, “Only family can go back there.”

“His family’s not here.”

“Sir -”

“I don’t even know if he has one!”

“Sir,”

“Let me go in!”

“Sir, I can’t.”

Keith slammed both of his fists into the desk - leaving slight indentations in the wood -- with a frustrated growl before turning and stalking over to sit down in a chair with a huff. The other people there glanced over at him, but he just stared them down angrily until they looked away.

A few minutes passed before Keith had an almost heart-stopping realization: Shiro didn’t know where he was, and oh boy was he late. Fuck. Now he wished he hadn’t yelled at the desk manager because he could really use that phone right now. Actually, no he didn’t regret yelling, that man had deserved it for keeping him from Lance. Fuck that guy.

Anyway, he wasn’t going to let potential hatred from a complete stranger stand in the way of him calling his brother. He walked back up to the desk with purpose and asked as politely as he could -- he was still angry after all -- if he could use the phone.

The guy looked a little scared of Keith and gave him the phone hastily, shooing him as far away from the desk as he could. He quickly entered Shiro’s number -- the only number he knew by heart -- and waited for the now inevitable ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech that he already knew by heart.

Sure enough, Shiro picked up on the second ring with a, “Keith, I don’t know why you aren’t using your cellphone, but I swear to god you’d better be almost home.” Wow, he sounded happy.

“Actually I’m in the emergency room. I’m not hurt,” He added to head off Shiro’s next question, “but I hit someone with my knife and he needed stitches.”

There was stunned -- but not really surprised -- silence on the other end of the line before, “Keith, we’ve talked about this. You-”

“This was an accident, Shiro!” Keith cut in, “I took a shortcut, got scared, and threw the knife! I wasn’t trying to hit anyone this time!” Shiro’s sigh cut through the phone rather loudly, “I’m serious! It was an accident!”

“Fine.” Came the eventual reply, “Just be home by ten.”

“I’ll try.” Keith told him, hanging up before Shiro could tell him that ‘try’ wasn’t good enough.

He handed the phone back and sat down again, hunched in his seat with eyes glaring at the large doors that had denied him what he wanted, no, what he deserved. Several people entered the waiting room and several left. His gaze never faltered. Several people stared, several ignored him. His gaze only intensified. Several families were let in through the doors that had swallowed Lance. Still he glared, but now with clenched fists and a need to shake his leg that he refused to give in to. At 9:00 p.m. an hour and a half after he had arrived, Keith went back up to the desk.

“It’s been an hour and a half. I have things to do. Can you let me see my friend?” Not to mention he had to get home before Shiro had an actual aneurysm.

The man looked up, “Sir, we’ve talked about this. I can’t le-”

For the second time that night, Keith slammed his fists onto the desk, “Just let me see him! What am I going to do, stab him again? Just let me in the damn room!” For the second time that night, the man turned pale as a sheet. He nodded quickly and spoke softly into the radio on his shoulder. Keith couldn’t make out the words, but he was going to go in even if they all told him no.

Luckily, breaking in and trespassing was unnecessary as a nurse came through the doors and took him back with her.

“He’s completely fine at this point. We number him for stitches and gave him some painkillers, but he’s free to go as soon as his family comes to get him.” Keith couldn’t help but get a little irritated at the unnecessary stress she put on the word ‘family,’ but he just grit his teeth and stayed silent.

“They’re already on their way and should be here in less than half an hour, so there’s no need to worry.” She continued, oblivious -- or pretending to be so -- to Keith’s anger.

“Alright.” Keith answered, his face impassive and void of emotion, “I’ll just say bye and go.” Really, he just wanted this nurse to go.

And she did. As soon as they reached Lance’s room she threw Keith a strangely forced smile before walking away hurriedly, not sparing even a glance for her actual patient. Huh. That was weird.

“Heeyyy, Keeiithhh.” Came Lance’s slurred response to Keith’s entrance into his room, “What’s up man?” He giggled, “You’re prettier than that nurse. I’m soo glad you’re here.” It seemed the nurse had not told him how powerful these painkillers were when she explained Lance’s condition.

“She didn’t liikkke my pickkup linesss. I knoow you do.” Lance then proceeded to slowly and sloppily ask Keith if he was from heaven or Tennessee before complimenting his ‘space’ pants and asking if they had a mirror in them. Keith found he could not blame the nurse for running away. He certainly wanted to.

His lack of response -- positive or negative -- did not deter Lance from talking, but the conversation did take quite a turn, “You don’t like my pickup lines either.” Lance said, suddenly losing the majority of his slur.

Keith opened his mouth to protest because he would rather lie than look at the kicked puppy look on Lance’s face any longer, but Lance cut him off.

“Don’t lie,” He said, floppily waving a hand in Keith’s general direction, “I can see it on your face. I’m not very good at being funny.” He looked at Keith, his eyes shockingly clear and cognizant, “I’m not very good at anything.” And with that he went silent.

To say Keith was uncomfortable would be a devastating understatement. He wished he had never been allowed back here. He was terrible with emotions, and this was about as far out of his comfort zone as he could get. His own emotions were foreign entities to him, let alone those of a sad man high on painkillers that he had met only hours ago. None of that was in his alley. Hell, none of that was anywhere near his alley.

So he smiled awkwardly as he stuttered out, “Uh, I’m, uh, sorry? I have to go, but, uh, I’ll text you.”

Lance’s face lit up, “I’ll be waiting!” He exclaimed, the previous conversation seemingly left far in the past already.

Keith’s smile turned genuine for a second before he gave a small wave, turned, and walked out of the room and out of the hospital entirely. Luckily, his house was only a few blocks from here so he could walk home without the night chill and his own thoughts catching up to him. Lance was attractive, that was for sure. Lance was not as carefree as he seemed, that was also for sure. But it would not do for Keith to dwell on these things just yet. Tomorrow he would text Lance, as promised, and things would continue from there. At this moment he just had to focus on getting home and surviving Shiro’s wrath. The rest was yet to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are appreciated mucho. This was supposed to be a happy lil thing but I physically cannot write anything without angst. Whoops. Anyway, love you all!


End file.
